Your warmth, I don't like it
by Kajune
Summary: ...Mukuro said, as he sat staring at the hands cradling his own. He never liked the odd feeling, the rare affection, and would never wish that to change. Yet, the hands refuse to let go.


**Title **: Your warmth...I don't like it.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the Characters including KHR.

**Genre** : Hurt / Comfort / Friendship

**Warning **: OOCness. OCs.

**Summary **: ...Mukuro said, as he sat staring at the hands cradling his own. He never liked the odd feeling, the rare affection, and would never wish that to change. Yet, the hands refuse to let go.

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**"Rokudo Mukuro Birthday Story"**

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**Chapter 1 **

**What is Love [Page 1]**

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He can feel its tail caress his legs; the fluffy cat by his shoes. He looks down, and sees the white ball of innocence calmly enjoying itself in his presence, as it circles him, and at the same time, leaving paw prints upon the thick white snow they both stand on.

Its color matches that of the land, and the many snow flakes which continue to fall, each landing on anything happening to be below it; he himself is no exception.

Dressed in a heavy black jumper, topped with a green scarf and a pair of blue jeans of fair price, Rokudo Mukuro is peacefully gazing at his surroundings, which consist of a street that is - at this time - rather empty. On both sides are houses with chimneys, each of which are smoking out the heat, hoping to warm its owners whom choose to avoid the freezing day. Each and every roof is heavily coated in snow, no less than the street itself.

It is sometimes nice to travel back home and experience this weather, which delivers the cool winds that reach his every fiber and often - no matter how heavily covered - sends shivers throughout his very being. For the one thing he does love about Italy, is its relentlessly cold weather.

A blizzard would be unpleasant, but in the absence of one there will always forever be...a rare peace. This peace is characterized by the silence and calmness of each and every town the winter's snow hits. The lack of much traffic or noise that is disturbing leaves the town with not ruckus, but content. No such visitor is capable of resisting the urge to stand in the middle of such a wonderful peace.

During such weather, there are no animals roaming around or humans bouncing about, instead all are tucked in, in the warmth of their houses. Some little children may come out to play, for it is their nature, but around his favorite places, such a thing scarcely occurs.

The cat which form continues to seek comfort from him, may so very much feel pleased with occasional peace. A cat which is not his, a cat which came from nowhere, may so very well be in the worst situation ever, as well, for unlike the many civilians now sheltered away, Mukuro is no source for comfort.

It would be hardly a problem to kill it...without hesitation. Yet, even with the thought popping up admidst this fine weather, in an area where no witnesses are around, he can't help but feel 'paralyzed' by it, while it gives off a feeling which he had attempted to escape from earlier.

_This warmth._

Though not being far from hand's reach, being not a threat or a danger to his own life, his bare hands opt not to come out from the pockets of his jeans to rid himself of the life-form. His hands do not fear the cold, for it is such low temperature that they are extremely used to. For everything he has ever touched, or touched him in his life, have always felt at least a bit chilly.

However this warmth, this warmth unlike that of what comes from a firepit, or a blazing sun, is the opposite to all his usual sensations. It would take him by surprise and render him immobilized, partly because of what it symbolizes, and how uncommon it is. During his first contact with it, Mukuro had failed to register its true source, for nothing before had made him actually _scared_.

He'll never say that he came back home to escape such warmth, to avoid the overwhelming emotions that creep upon him when caring hands touched him. This warmth comes from love, trust and also affection. Such things he has never opened his arms to, and is not tempted to do so anytime soon.

He is a master at telling lies, hurting innocent people, and destroying all that is precious, for his life has never been troubled by the need to love or be loved, to be protected or to directly protect. It has always been...a 'bitter' life.

So a man like him can never acknowledge what is so pure and genuine, to the point that he despises it.

...yet he can do nothing to properly be rid of it.

The cat continues to go round in circles, and Mukuro - looking at it - can still not urge himself to kill it. No, it just doesn't seem possible. While he stands hesitate to end its poor existence, it continues to grant him affection, something which he is naturally poor at returning.

As the snow continues to fall, whitening his hair and clothes as they do, Mukuro wonders what he is going to do, if he is to avoid this feeling completely. For as long as he still breathes, he won't ever admit it, that he came here not simply because he missed this land, but because he wants to 'cool down' again, thanks to a certain someone...back in Japan.

...He'll never say that out loud, ever.


End file.
